 | Poems by Mrs. Opie |  |
105
THE COMPLAINT.
And am I to endless repining decreed?
By the hand of her Henry must Caroline bleed?
Must I to another my Henry resign?
And see her boast the fondness I once believed mine?
By the hand of her Henry must Caroline bleed?
Must I to another my Henry resign?
And see her boast the fondness I once believed mine?
Thou know'st thy strong sway o'er thy Caroline's breast;....
Thou know'st that, by passion and duty opprest,
Both tyrants at once my weak bosom assailed,
And that duty at length over passion prevailed.
Yet then, when I bade thee a final adieu,
Henry! did not my eyes still thy footsteps pursue?
Say, did not my tongue my fond agony tell
When it faltered, and could not say ‘Henry, farewell!’?
Say, did not my bosom by many a sigh
What my trembling lips uttered too strongly deny?
I said ‘O forget me!’ but couldst thou not see
That I wished thee to live for no other but me?
I hoped, (selfish balm for a passion-torn breast!)
Thou, deceiver! like me by fond anguish opprest,
Wouldst still in remembrance my image adore,
And that absence would only endear me the more.
Nought strange or fantastic in this could I see,
For, oh! such were the feelings I cherished for thee.
Thou know'st that, by passion and duty opprest,
Both tyrants at once my weak bosom assailed,
And that duty at length over passion prevailed.
Yet then, when I bade thee a final adieu,
Henry! did not my eyes still thy footsteps pursue?
106
When it faltered, and could not say ‘Henry, farewell!’?
Say, did not my bosom by many a sigh
What my trembling lips uttered too strongly deny?
I said ‘O forget me!’ but couldst thou not see
That I wished thee to live for no other but me?
I hoped, (selfish balm for a passion-torn breast!)
Thou, deceiver! like me by fond anguish opprest,
Wouldst still in remembrance my image adore,
And that absence would only endear me the more.
Nought strange or fantastic in this could I see,
For, oh! such were the feelings I cherished for thee.
But vain were my hopes, for my Henry's untrue;
Another with eyes of delight he can view,....
Another, unchecked by harsh duty's control,
Who can yield up to passion the sway o'er her soul.
I hear thee to her breathing forth the fond vow,
I behold thee on her thy attentions bestow,....
And now to the altar I see thee her guide,....
In a moment, alas! thou wilt hail her thy bride.
Another with eyes of delight he can view,....
107
Who can yield up to passion the sway o'er her soul.
I hear thee to her breathing forth the fond vow,
I behold thee on her thy attentions bestow,....
And now to the altar I see thee her guide,....
In a moment, alas! thou wilt hail her thy bride.
Blest maid! but perhaps, tho' her fondness be thine,
In her heart ne'er will glow such a passion as mine.
Dear youth! had I been thy companion in life,
Had I boasted, my Henry, the name of thy wife,
How fondly would I, when grief reached thee, have tried
By still sharing thy sorrows their keenness to hide!
If doomed sad reverses of fortune to prove,
I'd have shown thee the fortune I prized was thy love.
If sickness and pain gave thy bosom alarm,
I'd have sought by attention thine anguish to calm,....
Scarce breathed while thy head on my bosom reposed,
And, ah! never, no never, my eyelids have closed:
My hand ever near should thy pillow have smoothed,
I'd each wish have prevented, each suffering have soothed:
To hush thy alarms I'd have smiled through my tears,
And breathed nothing but hope, though distracted with fears.
O dictates of passion, still ardent though vain!
But, ah! no,....thou unmoved canst not hear me complain:....
Return, O return! from control I'll be free,
And will sacrifice duty, nay all things, for thee!
Lead, lead to the altar, my struggles remove,
And the anguish let's change to the raptures of love!
In her heart ne'er will glow such a passion as mine.
Dear youth! had I been thy companion in life,
Had I boasted, my Henry, the name of thy wife,
How fondly would I, when grief reached thee, have tried
By still sharing thy sorrows their keenness to hide!
108
I'd have shown thee the fortune I prized was thy love.
If sickness and pain gave thy bosom alarm,
I'd have sought by attention thine anguish to calm,....
Scarce breathed while thy head on my bosom reposed,
And, ah! never, no never, my eyelids have closed:
My hand ever near should thy pillow have smoothed,
I'd each wish have prevented, each suffering have soothed:
To hush thy alarms I'd have smiled through my tears,
And breathed nothing but hope, though distracted with fears.
O dictates of passion, still ardent though vain!
But, ah! no,....thou unmoved canst not hear me complain:....
109
And will sacrifice duty, nay all things, for thee!
Lead, lead to the altar, my struggles remove,
And the anguish let's change to the raptures of love!
Ah! no;....cease thy criminal wishes, fond maid!
To eternal repentance O be not betrayed!....
Fly, fly me for ever, fond passionate dream!
Though I lose Henry's love, I'll deserve his esteem.
To eternal repentance O be not betrayed!....
Fly, fly me for ever, fond passionate dream!
Though I lose Henry's love, I'll deserve his esteem.
'Tis over;....the dreadful, deep struggle is past;
And thou, Henry, once mine, art another's at last!
I see thee embrace her as wife of thy heart,
While the life-blood I feel from my bosom depart.
But ne'er shalt thou learn the sad cause of my fate,
Lest thy heart's tender transports the tale should abate,
And, when to thy view my cold grave shall appear,
Self-upbraidings should mix with regret's tender tear:
And thou, Henry, once mine, art another's at last!
I see thee embrace her as wife of thy heart,
While the life-blood I feel from my bosom depart.
110
Lest thy heart's tender transports the tale should abate,
And, when to thy view my cold grave shall appear,
Self-upbraidings should mix with regret's tender tear:
Then now to the flames I'll these numbers consign;
They my heart have relieved, but shall never wound thine!
Ah! no;....in the grave all my injuries shall sleep,
And thou, Henry, a friend, not a victim, shalt weep.
True love to the last shall thy Caroline's be,
And my breath shall expire in....a prayer for thee.
They my heart have relieved, but shall never wound thine!
Ah! no;....in the grave all my injuries shall sleep,
And thou, Henry, a friend, not a victim, shalt weep.
True love to the last shall thy Caroline's be,
And my breath shall expire in....a prayer for thee.
| Poems by Mrs. Opie | |